


The Fail Proof Dutch Recruitment Plan

by blindbatalex



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Galatasaray SC, Istanbul, M/M, a bunch of Gala German NT and Dutch NT players, ah transfer angst oh man, fun times in, mentions of / cameos by, mostly fluff partially angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-04
Updated: 2017-02-04
Packaged: 2018-09-22 00:27:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9573827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blindbatalex/pseuds/blindbatalex
Summary: Lukas might have been the one who suggested they prioritize their careers years ago and said that they could make long distance work. And they did. However, now that his partner is intent on sabotaging his career under the tyranny of an evil snake of a coach, Lukas can no longer sit on his hands and watch. Especially not when he has come into the possession of the perfect recruitment plan that will convince Bastian into moving to Istanbul in no time.Or the eight and a half ways Lukas tries to convince Basti that Istanbul is heaven on earth.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mm_nani](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mm_nani/gifts).



> For mm_nani, my fan fiction and football godmother, for her approaching birthday. You introduced me to the joys of football, fan fiction and writing, peeling away layers and layers of prejudice over the years. And you still put up with all the random football shit I send on a daily basis. Thank you for everything man--hope you enjoy the story (and the German NT inclusivity eheh)! I died trying to. keep it. a secret. from you. And it’s a great thing you didn’t get me drunk in the last month or so because I’d have definitely spilled it all, much like Robin in this story, if you had. xoxo
> 
> Erm, right--this story is set in Istanbul obviously and there are a bunch of notes at the end if you are unfamiliar with the city. I am sorry if it reads like a tourism advert of sorts for Istanbul? Podolski has been at Galatasaray for a while now though and this story was meant to be written sooner or later. I am also sorry for that Fenerbahçe joke at the end, and definitely not sorry for the Lion King reference I snuck in! 
> 
> The first chapter makes for a complete, standalone story really and the second chapter are two gratuitous epilogues on where the plan comes from and some more Schweinski fluff. If you are here for the Kuyt & Robin van Persie bit, you can just go to the epilogue and read it as a drabble.

**1\. How you greet the potential new recruit sets the tone for the visit. Meet him at the airport and make him feel at home from the start.**

Bastian puts his passport away and leaves the rather starstruck customs officer with a smile and a _Merhaba!_. That is probably not the right word for thank you, the airport is crowded, and his muscles feel sore after the morning’s training and five hours on the plane. And yet none of it really matters. He narrows his eyes as he exits the restricted area and spots Poldi in a heartbeat among the sea of men and women waiting for their loved ones. Poldi’s face is scrunched up with focus as he searches for Bastian in the crowd. He is terrible at recognizing faces though, and so Bastian gets to surprise him every time. “Lukas!” he shouts at the top of his lungs, not caring for the possible presence of paparazzi or the heads suddenly snapping his way. He watches Poldi’s face transform from concentration to confusion to all-encompassing joy in return. “I keep telling you to be more discreet,” Lukas complains as they hug but his voice lacks any heat. Given his unwillingness to let Bastian go he doesn’t seem too good at following his own advice either. So Bastian lets himself be held and feels the weeks of separation melt away. It’s been too fucking long.

**2\. Coordinate with the Turks so that the potential recruit experiences the best of Turkish hospitality.**

Basti positively pouts when Lukas tells him they are going to Turans’ house for a family dinner. They are at the back seat of the car, and Lukas still cannot resist it when Basti makes puppy eyes like that. What he wants more than anything right now is to caress Basti’s cheeks and kiss him, gentle and patient, until he stops pouting. And yet he must be strong for both their sakes. There will be a time for all that later. “Aren’t you tired of terrible English food?” he tries, “I promise this will be a feast for the soul--better even than what you get at Grandma Özil’s.” Bastian snorts. 

“Nothing is better than what you get at Mrs. Özil’s.”

He has a point, but Mesut only has one incredibly talented grandmother whereas Turan has promised him three and Lukas believes in strength in numbers. He just hopes Arda’s aunts are as good as Arda claims they are and that the team has a point about how ingredients for Turkish food are fresher here than in Germany. (“It’s risky, Selçuk has said, “you don’t want to remind him how good he had it at the Özil house and inadvertently send him right back to Germany instead.”)

But in the end the dinner is a success. Lukas doesn’t know how it gets from Arda’s aunts passing more _köfte_ s and _dolma_ s to Bastian’s plate to the four of them facetiming Emre Can and Mesut at the national team camp but for the most part Lukas isn’t complaining. 

Their collective enthusiasm for matchmaking is perhaps a bit disconcerting though, as Emre and the aunts conspire to set Arda up with a cousin. Who meanwhile has given up protesting and is watching the conversation unfold in quiet horror. “Food as good as this always comes at a high price,” Arda says, forlorn, “I can’t believe your friend got Emre bloody Can involved though. What the flying fuck?” For what it’s worth Lukas did not see that one coming either. Over on the tiny phone screen Emre is talking a mile a minute, translating for Basti, and gesticulating wildly with his hands. Whatever he's said the aunts nod in unison, beaming with delight.

Eventually with Arda set up on three dates (two with Emre’s cousins and one with that one friend Mesut has in Barcelona), they thank their hosts profusely for the food and take their leave. On the way back Basti sidles up to Lukas, like a giant sleepy cat. The weight of his head feels good on Lukas’ shoulder. “I think I have a food baby,” Bastian murmurs, the day’s training and the travel taking their effect, not the mention the outrageous amounts of food they had. 

“Hmmm.” 

Lukas is dying to ruffle Basti’s hair and steal a small kiss like he loves to do whenever Basti is sleepy. Given the presence of the driver however he has to content himself with resting his head on Basti’s. And of course the moment he does he realizes just how tired he is too.

_So much for our night of fucking each other senseless_ he thinks, already half asleep. 

**3\. Show him Istanbul is magical. Make him fall in love with the city.**

“Where else can you find a view this majestic?” Lukas asks, eyes full of admiration. They are having lunch at a rooftop restaurant and even though it’s already November the weather is warm enough to sit outside. Bastian takes his eyes away from the food that has just arrived and looks over to where Poldi is gesturing. Glistening in the midday sun the Bosphorus does look majestic, the myriad ferries and ships dotting its waters. Then again take him to a viewing deck on any port city on a sunny day and he’ll feel the same way. 

He takes a bite of the artichoke--it’s pretty tasty but pales in comparison to what he had yesterday--and makes an affirmative noise. It is enough of a confirmation for Poldi to carry on. “Sitting here we are in Europe and Asia is just over there across the water, and only the Bosphorus in between the two. Istanbul is literally the bridge that connects the West to the East.” Lukas nods sagely at the wisdom of his words, as though he’s discovered the key to one of the universe’s greatest mysteries.

He looks a little ridiculous like that, regarding Istanbul the way a besotted teenager talks about his first crush. And Bastian doesn’t know where this sudden outpouring of love or the urge to take him to every important historical site comes from but he smiles anyway. From his atrocious metaphors about Hagia Sophia to his deftness at ordering food, it’s clear that Lukas has settled well in Istanbul. Not long ago every phone conversation involved him complaining about traffic or how the city falls apart every time there is a rain or a snow storm. 

So Bastian takes in the view through Poldi’s eyes, doing his best to appreciate the mysticism, and the magic Poldi sees in this ancient city. “I’ve never been anywhere more beautiful” he says and even if it isn’t exactly true the validation in Poldi’s eyes makes it so.

**~~4\. Exploring the wonderful, vibrant Kadıköy of course, goes without saying.~~ **

“What about that shadowy place?” Bastian asks, pointing across the Bosphorus. Lukas knows exactly where he is talking about. The hairs on his arms rise at the thought of Bastian venturing there alone. 

“That’s beyond our borders. You must never go there Basti” he says, afraid for both their sakes. And then he catches himself just in time. 

“I mean, why would you want to go there, the Asian side is so lame anyway. Here look, a seagull!”

**5\. Take him to your favorite place in the city**

They are walking down a narrow cobblestone street, towards the sea, having just finished the last of their _rakı_. There is a breeze and the night air feels cool against Lukas’ skin, warmed as he is with the alcohol and the fire from the restaurant. “You'll see,” Lukas says, excited and slurring his words slightly, “there is nothing like taking the public ferry at night.” He may care fuck all about Hagia Sophia or the thousand other mosques and palaces he took Basti to, but Lukas doesn't need to make anything up when it comes to the islands ferry at night. You are anonymous in the dark, and especially so in the off season. The lights of the city shimmer on the deep black waters, and the hum of the engine draws you in until all that is left is quiet and a sense of peace. Lukas knows he is more rational than this when he is sober but right now he just needs Basti to _see_ , to feel what Lukas feels, because maybe then he’ll want to stay. 

“Huh,” Basti says when they make it to the dock, “there's no one here. No ships, no lights, nothing.” Lukas blinks in confusion as his firm belief that the last ferry is at eleven clashes with the evidence in front of his eyes. 

Some googling and a bitter phone call later all Lukas can do is to stand by the deserted dock and apologize. It's late, they are both tired, and Lukas has no excuse for looking at the wrong timetable. It doesn't help that the earliest transport he could arrange won't arrive for at least another hour. He feels like a fool really.

Bastian looks up at him from where he is sitting on the dock, legs dangling over the edge and gestures at Lukas to sit. “I don't mind” he says, “it's nice here.” His eyes are fixed somewhere on the horizon. When Lukas sits down Bastian envelops him with an arm and draws him in close. Lukas leans into the touch basking in the warmth radiating from Bastian. 

They sit there for a while, holding each other, silent except for the beating of their hearts and the distant screeching of the seagulls. Slowly, Lukas lets his disappointment go. 

And then because it’s November and they are in Istanbul _of course_ it starts to drizzle. Lukas makes an unhappy grunt and looks up at the sky, as though he can will the clouds to behave by the force of his stare. 

The clouds--and his boyfriend--seem to have other ideas, however, as Bastian shamelessly uses the opportunity to surge forward and steal a kiss. He draws back almost as soon as their lips touch and grins down at Lukas triumphantly. 

“You can't be mad,” he says, a mischievous glint in his eye, “I checked first, and there isn't even a cat in sight.” Lukas takes a quick, instinctive look around to confirm, his heart suddenly beating fast. But there really isn’t a single soul around. Well. 

“Is that so?” Lukas lets his voice drop low and shifts a little to find the optimal angle. And then, before Bastian can so much as blink Lukas has latched their lips together and is pulling Bastian in for a deep kiss. If they found the one place in Istanbul where they are actually alone, like hell is Lukas going to let it go to waste.

Surprised, Bastian lets out a small noise caught halfway between a protest and a moan, but he doesn’t pull back. If anything, he kisses back just as ferociously after a moment, mouth hot and desperate against Lukas’. 

_We should add getting stranded in your favorite place to the Plan,_ Lukas thinks absently. 

Neither of them pay much attention to the pouring rain.

**6\. If the fixtures align take him to a home game to show him the passion and the spirit of the fans.** _Irrelevant. Basti has been to many GS games already. Also don’t see how watching the Turks struggle against Kosovo will help our case._

**7\. Let him soak in the beauty and the mysteries of the Bosphorus.**

Bastian is feeling cross as he hops on the yacht and that is before he notices the five piece Turkish classical music band on board. He is so pissed at Lahm for calling them twenty times in the morning just so he can prove to Klose that Bastian and Poldi like morning sex. Because it turns out that having a partner who blindly accepts video calls and two former teammates who are howling with laughter and making obscene gestures at the camera is a surefire way to kill an erection. It’s also not helping that Bastian is still a bit hungover and he is now on a boat with loud live music. 

Bastian stands at the back of the yacht and watches the trail of white foam they leave in their wake. As they leave the dock the band begins to play a lively tune, and despite his hangover it’s not _that_ terrible. He suspects Lukas would call the song something along the lines of _a lively, old world charm that transports you to a world of senses, spices and a plethora of people excitedly chattering and putting the world to rights._. He hates how Poldi’s poetic streak is rubbing off on him. There is so much to hate about Poldi really. He tells Poldi as much when he comes to stand next to him. 

“Who the fuck doesn’t check if it’s a video call before answering? Honestly, Lukas.”

The tips of Lukas’ ears turn red, probably as he replays the scene from the morning in his mind but he quirks an eyebrow and says,  
“That is rich, coming from the man responsible for the Door Latch Incident of ‘06. This morning wouldn’t even have happened had someone remembered to lock the door ten years ago.”

“I was young and swept up in new love,” Bastian protests, raising a hand to his chest to emphasize his point “what excuse do you have, you old fart?” He is not convinced to this day that he was the one supposed to lock the door in the first place but chuckles at the memory. 

“Do you remember Miro’s face when he walked in?”

“Not really,” Poldi answers with a matching grin of his own, “I was too busy trying to roll as far away from you and hide under the bed.”

After that day they both took care to always lock the door and to never sleep naked again, especially at a team hotel. Miro for his part handled two youngsters using him as a confidante quite well even if blushed every time he saw Bastian or Lukas eat a banana for months. 

He’d never say it to Miro’s face but Bastian is incredibly grateful that it was Miro who walked into their room that day, and not someone else. He is about to give in and thank Miro for all he’s done for them over the years when Poldi pulls out his phone and groans next to him. Before Bastian can ask he shoves the phone at Basti’s face. On it is a text from the man himself, composed of an eggplant emoji, a few tongue emojis and a winky face. All Bastian can do is to shake his head and utter a silent prayer to heavens for intervening on time and saving him from yet another terrible mistake.

**8\. For lunch the second day take him to eat _iskender_. Once the food arrives talk about your experiences at the club, and emphasize the ways the club will be good for the potential recruit as well. Remember that no one is more suggestible than while eating this heavenly kebab for the first time.**

“Remember how unhappy I was the last season before I signed for Galatasaray? I had no game time at Arsenal and then at Inter and it was tearing me to shreds.” Lukas says, doing his best to sound natural and conversational. Wesley has sworn about the success rate of the Dutch Recruitment Plan but Bastian can sometimes be stubborn as a goat and Lukas feels nervous. Yet, continue he must, because there is no fucking point to being two thousand miles apart when no one can even argue that they are doing right by their careers anymore. A muscle pops in his jaw just thinking about that scum Manchester United call their coach.

Bastian listens quietly, half distracted with figuring out the perfect meat to pita bread to yogurt ratio. “So,” Lukas finally ventures, wondering if he dares to hope. “I think Istanbul--Galatasaray could work just as well for you, if you just consider--” but he doesn’t even get to finish his sentence.

“Poldi.” 

Lukas shakes his head and chuckles. There goes his answer for whether he should ever dare to hope when it comes to Basti and transfers.

“Failproof plan my ass.” He tries hard not to sound too bitter. “Weeks of discussion and planning with Wesley and the team to perfect the plan, and we are still stuck at _Poldi_.” He spears a slice of meat in frustration. 

Bastian is silent for a moment and his words are slow and measured when he speaks again.

“Is that what this weekend was?” he says, eyes now fixed squarely on Lukas. “Part of some crazy plan to what--to lure me to Galatasaray by playing at tour guide? When we already had this conversation and you knew. You knew that I want to stay at Manchester United.” 

Maybe no one’s told Basti but in Lukas’ book a _conversation_ implies two people who are willing to talk. Besides, that was months ago, back in the summer and Basti hasn’t even played ten minutes of first team football since. 

“Well, excuse me for trying to stop my husband from sabotaging his career because he’s too thickheaded and stubborn.”

Lukas doesn’t mean to spit out the words quite the way he does but he also can't bring himself to care. Across the table Bastian’s mouth drops open a little and he stares at Lukas in quiet fury. His fork and the _iskender_ lay forgotten on the table. 

“When faced with a challenge some of us choose to stay and fight instead of running away to an easy league at the first opportunity, Lukas.”

Lukas has always been impressed with Bastian’s ability to deliver the perfect punch to the gut without ever raising his voice, and now isn’t any different. He can only sit there, fingers curled into fists on his lap and a million comebacks stuck in his throat as Basti gets up and walks away. His heart sinks as Basti reaches the door and disappears into the afternoon. 

This isn’t how it was supposed to go.

_**9\. RvP too drunk to remember this last item. Improvise???**_

**_where r u?_ **

A smile, however small and tentative, spreads across Bastian’s lips. There was a time when they would stay mad at each other for days after a fight but that is a luxury Bastian doesn’t have right now, not when he’s flying back to Manchester the very next day. He mostly just feels tired and foolish anyway.

_idk where exactly but i can see ships in the distance & a minaret?_

**_say no more if u can see ships i’ll be right there_ **

Bastian can almost see Poldi look at his phone screen and roll his eyes at his lame attempt at a joke. He lets out a breath he’s been holding since he stormed off from the restaurant and sends Lukas what his phone alleges to be his location.

***

“Seventy-one cups,” Bastian says in lieu of hello when Lukas comes over. Lukas looks at him kind of funny from where he’s sat down on the far side of the bench. He hates how Lukas sits on the very edge as though he might change his mind and just leave.

“No one’s won more trophies in Turkey than Galatasaray,” Bastian clarifies, “No one has won a major cup in Europe except you guys. And ask anyone in England and they will say Turkish grounds are the most hostile they played at. So.”

Poldi’s brow is still furrowed but at least he’s looking at Bastian with something between attention and curiosity. Bastian grins.

“So. Given how Gala is clearly the best club in Turkey. If it was an easy league, then you’d be expected to win at least some of the time at Kadıköy, right?”

“Really,” Lukas says standing up. For a split second Bastian is afraid that his attempt at making amends has backfired and Lukas will actually leave, but he doesn’t. Instead he smacks Bastian upside the head and folds his arms. 

“This is how you apologize?” he says, “By bringing up our away record against bloody Fenerbahçe?” Even as Lukas pretends to be indignant he can’t quite hide his grin and it is a sight for sore eyes. 

“I’m sorry Poldi,” Bastian says, for real this time. “I didn’t even let you speak and I was out of line.”

“Yeah, me too. It isn’t exactly noble to conspire with teammates to lure your partner to your club.”

“Speaking of,” Bastian says and gently tugs at Poldi’s hand so that he sits down--and closer this time. “What exactly did this plan entail? I really hope the part with Miro--”

Lukas cuts Bastian off and protests very loudly. He looks so scandalized at the thought that Bastian can’t help but chuckle--which earns him another smack upside the head. 

 

As they sit there by the water yet one more time, Bastian knows he owes Poldi a conversation. He needs to explain that if he left United now, without giving it his best try, he’d always wonder whether he could have made his way back to the team. Whether he can still manage what he pulled at Bayern when another new coach had deemed he was not good enough. That he doubts his decision everyday when he wakes up two thousand miles away from Poldi. 

“Let’s set up Skype this week and have a real conversation when our nerves aren’t so frayed,” he says, and Poldi nods. He looks weary. Bastian’s mind wanders to the unmade luggage that’s waiting for him back home. He is sitting right next to Poldi and yet somehow Bastian misses him already.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I promised here are the two gratuitous epilogues!

**a. The Flying Dutchmen**

_**tell robin he is a useless potato** _

_**both of you actually** _

_**u are *both* useless potatoes** _

Dirk stares at his phone in some confusion. Wesley has never made the most sense but this is strange even by his standards. Next to him, Robin cranes his neck like a (drunk) giraffe to see what he is looking at. The man has never believed in personal space or privacy.

“Ah!” Robin exclaims when he succeeds in his mission, and pointedly stares at the far corner of the bar. 

Not suspicious at all.

“Robin?” Dirk prods, “do you know what Wesley is on about?”

Whatever these two have been up to this time Dirk knows he is five seconds from finding out. For some reason all secrets come spilling out of Robin whenever he has a couple of drinks in him and they are already on their fifth pint. Dirk smiles fondly. There are very few benefits to retiring from the national team but spending the odd international break with the Van Persies is definitely one of them. 

True to his form Robin gulps and slowly turns back to face Dirk.

“Well,” he mumbles, picking up speed as he continues. “How would I know? You know how Wesley is. He is not mad about the Plan though. He can’t be because I never gave the recruitment plan to him. I’d never. You know me.” 

Sometimes Dirk forgets that other, less benevolent parties also know about Robin’s weak points and apparently a certain less benevolent party has no problem using it to his advantage. To get his hands on the recruitment plan Dirk has painstakingly prepared for his beloved Fenerbahçe. He runs a hand through his hair and slumps in his chair.

“Sneijder’s gotten you drunk, hasn’t he?”

“I mean,” Robin continues, still not looking Dirk in the eye, “if he’s calling us ‘useless potatoes’ though, clearly it didn’t work on Schweinsteiger?”

“Schweinsteiger! How on--”

Dirk stops himself just in time and takes a deep breath. He doesn’t even play for this club anymore and whatever they’ve been cooking behind his back, he’s decided that he doesn’t want to know. 

“You my friend are buying all the drinks tonight,” Dirk says instead, “and the next time. And so on into perpetuity.” Robin nods sheepishly, too guilty to protest. 

Dirk has to take a long drink from his beer to wash away the vision of the German national team slowly finding their way to Galatasaray. Lahm a rock in their defense as an older (but no less agile) Neuer guards the net. And all of it because of _his_ genius planning too.

“Just--” he says, rueing his soft spot for Robin. Things he would have done had it been Wesley or Arjen at his mercy now, with this much guilt he could work with. 

_Just be grateful I am not making you post a picture in my old Liverpool jersey on Instagram._ he thinks, downs the rest of his glass in one go.

 

**b. Schweinski the Football Husbands**

Bastian feels exhausted after the emotional rollercoaster of a day and the intense makeup sex that followed. But with Lukas soft and warm in his arms it is a pleasant kind of tired, like floating on a cloud with limbs like cotton. 

“Lukas,” he says, voice barely above a whisper, “you said something when we were fighting today.”

Somehow it’s always easier to talk about these things in the blanket of warmth and darkness.

“Hmm.” 

Lukas’ reply is just as soft, but Bastian can tell that he is paying more attention than his reply lets on. 

 

“You called me your husband.”

Lukas freezes in his arms like a deer that’s been caught in the headlights.

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” he says, cross. “you know exactly what I meant.”

It isn’t quite the reaction Bastian was expecting, but then again Lukas has reason to be wary. His Freudian slips are something of a legend in their friend circle, after all, and in no small part thanks to Bastian. 

_Maybe_ , Bastian thinks with a rush of regret, _I shouldn’t have told Miro or Phillip or Manuel or at least Mesut about that one time he called me mommy during sex._

He gently cards through Lukas’ hair to tell him it’s okay. That this time he’s just going to hold the word close to his heart and never tell a single soul, whether Lukas intended to say it or not.

“I liked the sound of it,” he says and adds in a reverent whisper, “husband.” 

“You did?”

“Yeah.”

Bastian feels the tension melt away from Lukas’ muscles as he settles again with his head on Basti’s chest. 

“Well,” Lukas replies, voice dripping with sleep, fondness and the tiniest hint of something else, “you won’t put a ring on my finger from two thousand miles away, Schweinsteiger.”

“I know,” Bastian says and he really does, “I still like it though.” 

As he slides into sleep, his last thought is that maybe retirement won’t be so bad. And that when the time comes to retire he’ll follow Poldi to the ends of the earth even if Poldi wants to open a B&B here or go coach in China.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, and comments are always appreciated! Here have even more tourism board stuff, and *some* useful information. 
> 
> \- Find me on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/blindbatalex)! I write at a snail’s pace but prompts and fic ideas are always welcome.  
> \- _Merhaba_ is most certainly not the right word for thank you.  
>  \- Arda Turan came through Galatasaray’s academy and even though he plays in Spain now he still visits GS whenever he has the chance. So if he is in Istanbul for the international break he’d totally volunteer to help lure Schweini??  
> \- Also this Turkey vs Kosovo game definitely did not take place in Istanbul, but sshhh!  
> \- [The Bosphorus](http://blindbatalex.tumblr.com/image/156775795766) is a water strait that connects Black Sea to the Mediterranean and it also stands between the two continents. It’s very hard to avoid the Bosphorus when you are in Istanbul as the city is built right around it.  
> \- [Prince’s islands](http://lifeinarucksack.com/princes-islands-istanbul-turkey/) are quiet and beautiful and perfect; so is the islands ferry. And you know, especially so in the offseason when there aren’t as many tourists.  
> \- The band is playing [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SymcEAeYGOw) on the boat.  
> \- Fenerbahce play in Kadıköy, on the Asian side. For all their glory, GS (Fener’s biggest rivals) haven’t been able to win [there](http://www.hurriyetdailynews.com/fenerbahce-beats-galatasaray-in-istanbul-derby.aspx?pageID=449&nID=106356&NewsCatID=361) in nearly two decades. (did I also mention there is a Liverpool-Man Utd level of rivalry between the two clubs?)  
> \- [Iskender](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/%C4%B0skender_kebap) in my completely unbiased opinion is the best food item one could ever have when it’s done right. And no, no one should fight while eating iskender. That should be illegal.  
> \- Turkish fans get a bit what’s the word-- _passionate_ \--when foreign teams come around. Take [Carra’s word](https://youtu.be/X4Cio-inG84?t=37s) for Istanbul grounds being the most hostile he played at.  
> \- I can hear you say, ‘why would Kuyt, who only played for Fenerbahce for three seasons even care, let alone still try to recruit people?’ I am so glad you asked. Here, see [ Exhibit 1](http://www.independent.co.uk/sport/football/transfers/robin-van-persie-to-fenerbahce-former-liverpool-striker-dirk-kuyt-helped-convince-striker-to-leave-10384393.html), and if that isn’t enough [the official thank you](http://www.fenerbahce.org/eng/detay.asp?ContentID=3891) on the club website from the summer. So really this recruitment plan is only a small stretch of the truth I feel.  
> \- Also Kuyt. Can we talk about this amazing, wonderful man. There is pretty much no one whose Liverpool hat tricks against United I will willingly ignore? Everyone at Fenerbahçe still loves him? (i.e. I need to write more stuff for him and RvP lol)  
> \- If you still have questions, about the story, Istanbul or life (or Kuyt) comment below or hit me up on tumblr :)

**Author's Note:**

> see the end of next chapter for notes!


End file.
